Semantics
Though time was difficult to tell from within the makeshift cell, the pinpricks of light that filtered in from tiny gaps in the walls seemed to indicate that it was late afternoon - almost dusk. In one corner of the room sat Myiari, who had managed to drag the Senator's unconscious body there after they had been tossed back in. The Mon Calamari's robes have been rolled up slightly, revealing the rather gruesome-looking burn on one of the man's legs, which the medic eyes grimly. After a few moments of nothing, she grabs at the bottom hem of the robe and begins attempting to rip a small strip off from it. "Shut off the monitors. I'm going in to talk to the medic," snaps Brek to the stormtrooper manning the console. He is garbed in his own armor, though with the helmet removed and tucked under his arm. The stormtrooper he addresses balks, turning to protest: "I don't think that--" "Don't make me get the Lieutenant." His free arm, in an almost idle gesture, drops to the gun on his belt. The stormtrooper nods, his armored fingers gliding along the keys, and a moment later the monitors blink off. Brek nods crisply, striding past and sliding the cell door open. He enters with his gun out, shutting it behind him, and backs into a corner, holding the gun between himself and the contents of the room. Eyes narrowed to slits stare across the dark room at Myiari as he hunches down, assuming a more comfortable seated position. Then, setting down his helmet, he shifts his hand slowly behind his back, producing a first aid kit, and shoves it across the floor toward the medic. "Might help," he notes, his voice free of emotion as he speaks. Myiari regards Brek with a cautious expression from the moment he enters, and she acknowledges the offer of the first aid kit with more than a little suspicion. She stares at him for several seconds simply watching for any sign of movement, though when none seems imminent, she grabs the kit and shuffles through it, carefully examining each of its contents. "Why are you here?" she asks, her tone dull, but still relatively hostile. "I thought you'd come here to finish us off; seems more typical of the Empire." Returning her attention to the injured Senator, she retrieves a vial of bacta spray from the kit and applies it to the wound before wrapping it with bandages. "Or are you going to wait until my guard's down before you shoot me?" Brek's stare is calm and resolute, his eyes gleaming in the dimness as his eyes flicker downward to the Senator. The gun remains propped on his plastoid-clad knee, but he relaxes very slightly, glancing back up toward Myiari after a moment and pushing a hand through his hair. Finally, he speaks, but not replying to anything she's said - it's as if she hasn't heard her: "How many did you kill?" A pause, and then he confirms, "And why?" Despite the questioning tone, there isn't an ounce of levity or demand in his tone. He remains cold, unreadable. "Stormtroopers," he adds brusquely, answering the inevitable request for clarification. The medic bristles slightly at the line of questioning as she finishes up tending to Tokoga's wound, emitting a soft sigh as she closes the first aid kit and slides it back over in Brek's direction. She shuffles over to the wall opposite the trooper and leans against it, drawing up her knees and folding her arms over them. "I don't know," Myiari replies simply. "I don't even really remember much either." Her green eyes flit up to meet Brek's, an almost accusatory look within them. "I doubt you keep track of how many people you've killed." The iciness in her gaze, however brief it was, fades as she sighs once more, instead opting to stare at her feet. "But I remember where and when. It...was maybe a week before I met you, actually. I was on Delar. The hospital I work at needed medical supplies delivered there as part of a humanitarian effort. Since the planet didn't have the same level of technology as we do, I volunteered to stay for a while and teach the locals how to use all the equipment. Some things happened, I got dragged into them, and the next thing I know, it turns out the Empire was also on Delar and making threats. Delar's a warzone, and the Empire made it fairly obvious that they weren't going to play nice. I'm no soldier, but capture often implies death, at least when the Empire's involved. So..." Her voice trails off, her sentence going unfinished. The stormtrooper closes the medical kit back up as he listens, only the occasional blink breaking his distant, implacable stare. Pulling it back to sit beside him, he slides fully into his seat. The E-11 lies across his knees, but it's no longer aimed at Myiari. "I tried to keep track for a while," he replies, at length. "I lost count. I wanted to lose count." He presses his lips tightly together, inhaling, his eyes fixed again on the unconscious Senator. "Look," he comments, lifting one hand suddenly to gesture as he speaks, "I want to say I don't hold that against you. But I do." His lip stiffens as he stares onward some more. "Killing stormtroopers doesn't fix the Empire. It just kills good men who have to take orders from monsters." "Carrying out those orders doesn't do anything to fix things either," Myiari says harshly in reply, whirling her head to stare at the man straight on before quickly glancing away again. "It just adds to the problem," she adds, her voice a little more subdued. "I don't expect you to forgive me or anything, and I don't care if you do. I'm...not stupid or naive enough to believe that only bad people die in war. People die all the time - even people who don't deserve to. It's not fair, but it's a fact of life. But it's one thing for people to get caught in the crossfire. It's one thing for people to be killed accidentally. But it's something else entirely when you commit genocide over and over and over, or try to deny all responsibility. The Empire does it all the time." "At least they don't pretend to be heroes," Brek comments in reply, his tone disquieted. "That's an issue I've always taken with your Republic, Oerstead." The last name is a pointed addition, accompanied by a jerk of his gun muzzle. "The only reason people are bowing down and worshiping them is because anything looks better next to the trumped-up image of the Empire your leaders have given them." His eyes are fierce, scarcely visible beneath the shadow his brow casts. "Your side's killed civilians too, you know. The Battle for Coruscant? Don't pretend that the Republic swooped in to save the day. They did it because Corsucant was the seat of galactic power and it would turn the tide of battle. A lot of innocent people died in the crossfire, or due to mistaken identity." He jerks a hand forward. "The Empire -admits- to its mistakes. It doesn't lie about who it is... But your side glosses everything over to preserve its sparkly-clean image. That rankles me. Sometimes bad things need to be done, but you wouldn't think it, to look at the way your leaders talk." Myiari emits a faint snort, narrowing her eyes. "The Empire admits to its mistakes? That's a load of Sith spit," she growls. "The Empire believes its always right. It -has- to be always right, and if you voice even the -slightest- bit of discontent, COMPNOR and the ISB track you down and either make you disappear or brainwash you, and then everyone's supposed to act like everything's alright." The medic shifts against the wall and tilts her head slightly downwards, allowing her long bangs to fall over her face to conceal her uncomfortable, almost grief-stricken expression. "I lived in the Empire long enough to understand how it worked. I was old enough to understand why some of the friends I'd known all my life were suddenly strangers to me, or why people I used to see everyday just suddenly vanished. The Empire rules with an iron fist and feels the need to control everyone and everything it can. Living in a constant state of fear, wondering if you'll one day be made an example of is no way to live. Not for me... At least in the New Republic I wouldn't have to worry about some secret police knocking on my door in the middle of the night to take me away for saying something the government didn't like." Grabbing his helmet, Brek settles it over his features, adjusting it so that his mouth is centered on the internal filter. "Some governments are good enough that they don't have to worry about that," he replies, his voice mechanical. His gun returns to his belt, and he tucks the medical kit under his arm, moving to the door and glancing back at Myiari. "I'm not saying they haven't gone overboard, but there were good reasons to begin with. Change takes time." He slides it open and takes a step through the doorway. "I'm done arguing this with you, Oerstead. Hope your Senator recovers." SLAM. The door closes, hiding Brek from sight. The echoes fade away, and there is only silence in the cell.